


Imaginary

by ElliottRookArchive (ElliottRook)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23260801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElliottRook/pseuds/ElliottRookArchive
Summary: I once applied for the Institute of Children's Literature. This was the short story I submitted. I got accepted, but I couldn't afford to take the course.





	Imaginary

Summer sat on the back stoop of her house, waiting for her mother to bring her a long-awaited after-lunch popsicle. The time of year bearing her name was in full swing, and while Summer usually enjoyed it, today was a scorcher and she was tired of the heat. She had thought about having her mother cut off all of her hair if only it would feel cooler.

Next to her, leaning against the wall, trying to scrunch himself up into the shade, sat Whit. He was good company, if nothing else. He frowned a little. "I wish I could have a popsicle, too."

Summer smiled at him apologetically. "You know my mom won't give you one. But I'll share mine with you."

He smiled. "Thanks. It's really hot out here, huh?"

"Yeah." She reached towards the bucket of sidewalk chalk beside her, pulled out the green one, and began fixing mistakes she'd noticed on her latest conc�rete masterpiece.

"It looks a lot like me," Whit told her bluntly, "but my nose is crooked."

She laughed. "It's harder to draw with chalk than with crayons. I could get it straight with crayons."

He shrugged. "No biggie."

She felt a sweat bead trickling down her neck. "Do you think I ought to cut my hair short?"

Whit shook his head, his own dark curls bouncing a bit. "No way. I like your hair."

"It's so hot..." she groaned.

"Well, couldn't you put it on top of your head or something until it gets cold again?"

Summer considered that. She reached back and twisted her hair around, and wrapped the coil around itself until it made a little knot at the nape of her neck. Ah, that felt better. She tucked the end in and let go. She hadn't tucked it tight enough, because her hair tumbled down in wheat-colored cascades.

"I guess your mom would have to do it."

Summer sighed. "I guess."

Suddenly, the back door opened and Summer turned to see her mother reaching down to hand her the grape popsicle. "Here you go, hon. Who were you talking to, just then?"

Summer and Whit exchanged glances. "No one, Mom," Summer said, taking the popsicle.

Her mother glanced around, looking right through Whit. "I could have sworn I heard someone..." She shook her head. "Must be the heat. I'll be taking a nap in my room if you need me." She closed the door and Summer let out a breath of relief.

Whit smiled. "Boy, have we got her fooled. But one of these days, she's going to hear you talking to me."

Summer licked her popsicle and held it out for Whit to do the same. "I hope not. She thinks eight years old is too old to have an imaginary friend."


End file.
